by Dan Dillard
Chapter 11
“The Ten Orders of the Demonic considers Angels, Seraphim and Cherubim all demons of sorts. Something not even considered by most folks. The fact is that the Greek term 'Daemon' simply means: ‘messenger’. Demons held rank. They were generals, soldiers, creatures of importance in their realms. The evil connotation was brought on by western religion, according to many. Some religions treat them simply as other paranormal beings with specific purposes. They aren't frightening as much as they are entities to be respected, or even worshipped in their own right.”
-Ethan Jacobs, Electronic Journal entry #37
..ooOOoo..
“Is there anyone here? Is there anything here?”
Ethan sipped coffee loudly and then listened intently for anything while trying to keep an open mind.
Actually talking with a spirit was his goal. It was unheard of.
Why? He thought.
“There’s no money in it,” he answered. “Take away the show and it’s not as exciting.”
He felt séances and other ceremonies were mystical because they hid the bullshit, masking the lack of empirical results with creepy theatrics. Even the ghost hunting shows of today never showed anything. Ambiguous shadows and noises, embellished by dramatic music. The camera was normally focused on the subject and not where they were looking. Classic sleight of hand.
“Heighten the emotions of those watching and they are more likely to believe, he typed. Suggestion is a very powerful thing, and a good showman can have folks seeing anything if the presentation is convincing.”
Again frustrated, he walked to the kitchen and fumbled for a shot glass. He found one that suited him and then wondered what he could use to make the rest of a homemade Ouija board. The tiny glass was a souvenir he had bought at a truck stop some years back. It was still a stretch for him to buy into the mysticism of a talking witch board with a copyright sticker on it, but maybe if he made one he could handle working without giggling.
‘I Got My Kicks on Route 66!’ it said on one side, the highway sign for the road on the other side.
Letters on cut pieces of paper would just slide around if the glass did move. He'd need to tape them down. He shrugged the idea off, absently setting the shot glass down on the counter and sitting back at the computer.
The cursor flashed after an ellipse, reminding him that he had things to say. Aligning his fingers on the home row, he paused, and then put his hands in his lap and spoke aloud.
“I just want to talk,” he said. “What’s up ghosts?”
Slobber looked up at him and wagged his tail and his tongue, certain the words were meant for him. Then he yapped, in hopes that it would earn him some play time. Ethan shot the dog a quick negative glance.
Aren’t dogs supposed to be in tune with this stuff? he thought. He would bark if there were an entity in the room, right? Worthless.
”If you are here, please give me some sort of a sign.”
He knocked the first section of shave-and-a-haircut on the back of the silver Dell laptop and, in his mind, envisioned Roger Rabbit or some other cartoon character popping out of the wall and singing ‘Two Bits!’ and then kissing him wetly on the mouth…but nothing happened.
“This is stupid. You think I’m stupid, Slobs?”
Slobs wagged his tail, blissfully unaware of the English language. It went unnoticed by his master, who closed his journal file and instead opened a webpage on séances. Slobber sighed loudly and lay his head down in defeat; there would be no wrestling tonight.
CRASH!
The sound came from the kitchen. Slobber’s ears perked up and he barked once, followed by a low, menacing growl. The hair stood up on Ethan's neck. He walked to the kitchen slowly and flipped on the light switch to see the shot glass broken on the floor.
Too much caffeine and all this creepy shit must have him on edge. He took a breath and let his body shudder, shaking off the shock, but then the phone rang, startling him all over again.
”Hey baby,” Emily said.
“You scared the shit outta me!”
“I’m sorry. Come on over. I'm all warm and soft.”
She played up the sultry quality of her voice and it was affecting him in all the right places.
In his best perverted heavy breathing voice he asked, “What are you wearing?”
“A sleepy tee-shirt…”
A smile spread across his face.
“And nothing else.”
Ethan fought with his urges. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to give Emily his full attention, and didn’t want to be distracted. He would owe her, and it would be epic in his opinion.
“I would love to, but soon, very soon. I'm just really tired.”
She would be in trouble when he got his hands on that body.
“Okay, babe. Call me, even if it's late.”
Back in the kitchen, he swept up the pieces of glass with a brush and dust pan. He tossed the debris into the trash can and then stood for a moment, scratching his head and trying to work out the physics of it in his mind. He opened the cabinet and took out another shot glass.
This one was from Planet Hollywood and he was pretty sure he had stolen it. He rubbed his chin for a moment. As he placed this one on the cheap Formica, he noticed the dish rack that sat next to the sink. It was a flimsy, blue, plastic thing that hugged the counter and the sink. Since he had a dishwasher, it normally sat empty. It was dry except for a moisture ring which was about the size of a shot glass.
He figured he must have rinsed the glass and placed it too close to the edge of the counter. When he placed the new one on the plastic mat, it slowly slid down the shallow incline until it fell into his hand. He'd have to make a trip back through Illinois to find another Route 66 glass. It was his favorite. He wished he'd picked Planet Hollywood first.
He wiped the glass with a dish towel and placed it back in the cabinet. His nerves calmed, but he was thinking about Emily. Ethan laughed at the fact that his plan backfired. Instead of having distracted sex with Emily, he was thinking about her and wasn’t having sex.
“It’s a lose-lose situation, Slobs.”
The Ouija would have to wait for another day. With the shot glass mystery solved, he would move on to something else.